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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573931">Episode 13: Joyce Darling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressupgeekout/pseuds/dressupgeekout'>dressupgeekout</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Vignettes from Azuaveria [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Furry (Fandom), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossdressing, Drug Use, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:21:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressupgeekout/pseuds/dressupgeekout</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce and her roommate chat on the balcony after a long day's work.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Vignettes from Azuaveria [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776130</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Episode 13: Joyce Darling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <ul>
  <li><a href="https://dressupgeekout.s3-us-west-2.amazonaws.com/vignettesfromazuaveria/20200602.pdf">Download the official PDF</a></li>
</ul>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="paragraph">
  <p>The only reason Joyce was able to afford her place in the Windward
Neighborhood was because she did not take care of the rent by herself. The
financial burden was split down the middle as evenly as possible with her
roommate, Twassin the rabbit, who usually went by “Twazz,” except when he
was onstage, where he was properly addressed as <em>Miss</em> Trixxxie Bunns.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>He opened the door of the ninth-floor apartment and saw a familiar sight.
Joyce was seated as usual on the rightmost reclining chair on the concrete
balcony, facing the grand nighttime city skyline with her booted hindpaws
propped up against the railing, surrounded in a thin haze of
pineapple-enriched smoke.  Some music he couldn’t hear was softly coming out
of the miniature stereochain on the balcony floor.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Joyce, darling!” he sang as he hung his purse encrusted with faux
diamonds on the brass hook beside the door. He also placed a small white box
on the kitchen counter. Joyce slowly turned her head around, and nodded a
casual “Sup?” in acknowledgement. She’d never show it, but she secretly
envied how impossibly good-looking he could be. She took an extra long pull
from the cigarette while contemplating the scathing irony of being a
better-looking girl if and only if she were actually a boy.  She laughed her
gravelly non-laugh at the thought, which was simultaneously ridiculous and
profound.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p><em>Miss</em> Trixxxie opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the balcony.
The distant, busy sounds of the city suddenly came into the mix, as well as
those from the stereochain. “Oo, pineapple!” he remarked with a fluttery,
musical flair.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Joyce squinted slightly. “Hey, babe. New wig?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Why yes!” He bobbed the brunette curls gently with one paw, and smirked.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“I like it, and your dress,” Joyce confirmed. He beamed. She extended a
paw. “Want one?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Yes, please!” <em>Miss</em> Trixxxie took a single Alondra. He sat in the left
chair and placed the cigarette delicately into his mouth. He brushed his
hair aside and leaned in as Joyce flicked the lighter. He took several
dainty puffs, thickening the pineapple fog. “Tastes as good as it smells!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Yeah,” Joyce agreed. “How was the show?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Ah, same old, same old. Lots of regulars, tipping as much as they usually
do. Maybe I need to step up my game!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Heh, what does that even mean?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Ah, I dunno… sing better songs, shake my ass harder than I already do,
make my cleavage deeper, I dunno, lots of things!” He attempted to make
smoke rings.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“What a weird business,” Joyce said primarily to herself.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Oh, wait, Joyce, darling! I have some cake! Want some?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Yeah, sure.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>He let the Alondra burn in the ashtray as he stepped into the kitchen. He
shortly returned with the small white box and some silverware. The music
coming out of Joyce’s stereochain was remarkably chill, even by her own
standards. A relaxed, lo-fi beat pulsed through the hum of the
not-so-faraway freeways of uptown Port Sokuit.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Almond Hazelnut Delight!” the rabbit announced. Scrumptious.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Alternating bites of cake with drags of pineapple vapor, the roommates
resumed their conversation.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Is there a performance tomorrow?” Joyce wondered.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Yes, but I don’t think very many animals go to cabarets during Marlsay
Day.  It’s not like Julius Marlsay was a queen!” he laughed.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Ya never know… well, then, I can tell ya for sure they go to the cafe.
School’s out and <em>everyone’s</em> in town. But I’ve managed to make it out alive
every year for the past four years.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Here’s to five,” <em>Miss</em> Trixxxie cheered. “You’re fabulous, darling, you
got this.” The roommates clinked Alondras and some ash fell to the ground.
The rabbit laughed. The squirrel snorted.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Joyce focused on the feeling of the almond shavings in her mouth, on the act
of mastication itself. She ate her slice slowly and deliberately. Her
roommate on the other paw took showy, exaggerated bites as if to make it
clear to the back of the house what he was doing. Ever since meeting each
other on <span class="underline">listings.co.azv</span> six months ago, each and every action
he took was for an audience. He was indomitable.  He was happy. She had been
meaning to ask him if he knew a life where he was not allowed to have an
audience. Not <em>quite</em> her place to inquire about such personal details.  But
she had known feelings of guilt, shame, apprehension, self-loathing, and
hiding, and wondered if he could identify with those. Perhaps, at some
point, they would have a conversation about it.  A long one which would last
all night and span entire biographies. But there never was enough time. And
if magically there was enough time, then there certainly never was enough
energy. The hustle was ceaseless. Animals needed coffee every day. And,
evidently, animals also needed twiggy, vaudevillian bunnie-boys every day,
too. Joyce did not judge.  How could she, even if she wanted to? She did not
have the time nor the energy to judge.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Hey, Joyce, darling. How come you don’t take your boots off?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Joyce hadn’t thought of that before. She rocked her right hindpaw back and
forth and studied its motion on the balcony railing. She wore sturdy, black
boots which nearly prepared her for combat, though they did not hide how
tiny her bare paws really were. The cuffs of her black denim jeans were
tucked into them, too.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Isn’t it time to kick back and relax? When you come home from work?” the
rabbit continued.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“I <em>am</em> kicking back and relaxing. But, I dunno. They’re comfortable. I
feel secure. I don’t <em>need</em> to take them off… and I can’t fling them off
my paws like high heels.” She demonstrated the kicking action.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p><em>Miss</em> Trixxxie chuckled. “Sandi Stormika did that one time during her
routine and her sandal flew right offstage and hit some guy in the
audience!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“No way.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“The only reason why it’s funny is because it wasn’t the stiletto heel
which struck his muzzle. He kept the shoe. Sandi even signed it for him!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Heh, little souvenir… does anybeast in the audience have anything of
yours?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>The rabbit struck a cartoonish pose of contemplation. “Hmm! Yes,
actually!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“What is it?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Guess!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Joyce inhaled. “Your virginity.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p><em>Miss</em> Trixxxie laughed uproariously, nearly spitting out his cake. Joyce
kept her deadpan demeanor intact.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Okay, seriously though. Panties?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Ha, no.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Wig?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Guess again!”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Bra?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Hehe, yup! Slingshotted it in the wolf’s face. He loves me now. You
should’ve seen his tail wag!” He waved both paws furiously to illustrate.
Joyce snorted.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“I hope it wasn’t an actually good bra you lost.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Nah, don’t worry about that. We have them in bulk in the dressing room.”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Joyce thought about the path which <em>Miss</em> Trixxxie took to arrive at
femininity, and how it was from a completely different starting point than
the one she herself had taken. His road must have been paved with makeovers,
shopping bags, blended coffee with whipped cream, glitter, and maybe some
bullying. But Joyce knew hers was paved with conventional beauty, stolen
purses, black coffee straight up, antidepressants, and definitely bullying.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“That cake was delicious,” Joyce said earnestly.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Wasn’t it?”</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>The rabbit extinguished the Alondra in the ashtray, and then took off the
wig. <em>Miss</em> Trixxie suddenly transformed into Twazz. “Okay, I’m taking a
shower,” he said plainly.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>“Sounds good,” Joyce said as Twazz stepped back inside. She ought to have
stepped inside herself, and go to sleep in a proper bed, in preparation for
the morning shift of one of the top three busiest days in Carmen’s year.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>But, no.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>Just one more.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>The chill beats playlist had run its course, and the stereochain pumped no
more, but she did not bother to switch it off. Joyce lit one more Alondra
and unlaced her boots, leaving them on her hindpaws. The white noise of the
freeway complemented the gray, formless space inside the pineapple
cloud-room surrounding her head, inducing a hypnosis.</p>
</div><div class="paragraph">
  <p>She unintentionally tunked out in her chair on the balcony, the Alondra
still incandescent. After his shower, Twazz dragged her to the couch because
he did not have the physical strength to carry her all the way to her bed — and not for the first time, either.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I find the stark contrast between Twazz's *fabulousness* and Joyce's anti-demeanor or cynicism particularly interesting. I was looking forward to writing this episode, to see for myself how those opposites would interact with one another. -dressupgeekout</p></blockquote></div></div>
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